Sometimes, I still see the post office parking lot. Almost empty. Too big. Too quiet.
I remember the late morning sun glinting off the icy pavement, bright enough to sting my eyes. I had to squint as I stepped out of the car, the wind sliding under my coat, sharp and needling. There was a faint scent of snow and old exhaust that made everything feel colder. Even though Spring is on its way.
I had the folded letter in my trembling hands. The final goodbye.
Every step toward that blue mailbox felt heavier than the last, like I was walking through a life I hadn’t chosen. By the time I reached it, my breath was shaking so hard I thought I might turn back.
I can still feel the cold edge of the metal slot under my fingertips. My fingers went numb instantly.
“This is it,” I whispered to no one. “After this, there’s no going back.”
I remember hesitating for three breaths, for five heartbeats. For all the moments that could’ve been something else if we’d just had one more chance.
Steel’s face flashed behind my eyes. The way he looked at me in the garage, the way he touched me like he was memorizing the shape of a prayer, the way his eyes burned when I walked away.
I whispered “goodbye” to the letter.
My fingers loosened. And I can still hear it; that soft, finalthunkas the envelope fell into the belly of the postbox. It sounded like something tearing loose in my chest.
I closed my eyes. Tears slid down my cheeks, cold enough to sting.
I remember thinking my secret goes with the letter. My love goes with it, too. Everything I couldn’t say is in there, heading toward a man who will read it alone, fists clenched, heart breaking in the space where I used to exist.
I turned before I could change my mind. The wind lifted my hair. The sky shifted clouds overhead. And for just a moment, the storm inside me quieted enough for one full breath.
Steel would read it. Steel would know why I left. He would know I loved him enough to disappear.
But he would never know. I would never let him know that when he opened that envelope, he was reading a goodbye from both of us.
I remember resting a hand over my stomach. A small ache blooming under my ribs, soft and terrible.
“My secret stays with me,” I whispered. “No matter what comes next.”
Then I got into the car, turned the key, and drove away from everything I ever wanted for the sake of a life that deserved to be untouched by war.
